


X's and O's

by iknowhowyoukiss



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 17:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6018100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iknowhowyoukiss/pseuds/iknowhowyoukiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He would build her an entire garden of roses if she asked, or acquire books full of blank pages for all the poems she might want to write, or purchase chocolate by the pound. Anything, really, if it meant he could give her more happy moments like these.</p>
            </blockquote>





	X's and O's

He knows right away that the bed is empty when he wakes, but it does not keep him from reflexively reaching out for the space beside him. A swipe of his hand across the mattress confirms his suspicions, the sheets are vacant, devoid of Emma and her warmth, and it’s what jolts him up. It takes another moment for his brain to catch up to the rest of him, hand scrubbing tiredly over his face as he attempts to make sense of her absence. Glancing at the window, he notes that the light is just beginning to break over the horizon and it makes him frown. It’s early yet and he’s never known her to rise with the sun if she can help it.

He pushes the covers back, stretching as he does, and is fully intent on finding her and discovering what has made her so restless. Something has drawn her from their bed and the circle of his arms, and that simply won’t do. He’ll rectify the problem immediately and bring her back, tuck the covers around them and forget the world for another hour or two -- more preferably. It’s Sunday, after all, and in this house, it’s practically considered a sin to be up so early. (At least, if the way that she’s grumbled in the past and latched onto him beneath the blankets -- arm and leg thrown possessively across his body -- to keep him from leaving is anything to go by.)

His hand reaches up to scratch behind his ear and he gives his eyes a second to adjust to the still dim room before moving his legs off the side of the bed. A single red rose sitting atop the nightstand catches his eyes and his brow arches up curiously. There’s a white card tied to the stem with Emma’s familiar scrawl written in neat lines, and he draws the bloom into his lap so he can read it.

_Pirates like booty,_

_Especially you._

_Come give me a kiss,_

_And I’ll give you one too._

_Happy Valentine’s Day!_

_Love, Your Secret Admirer_

He is confused for a moment then remembers all of the talk of some Saint Valentine fellow and the celebration of love, the red and pink hearts all the businesses have decorated their establishments in weeks earlier, the cards he had gone to the store with Henry to buy, not to mention the increased presence of chocolate in the bakery and on Granny’s dessert menu to honor the holiday.

(He has quickly found that this realm is full of holidays, one every month it seems, and some stranger than others. But he doesn’t mind them so much. It’s always interesting to hear about then research them further in Belle’s library. Besides, if it brings out the romantic in Emma, well, he’s not the least bit opposed as the main one that stands to benefit from it is _him_.)

His quiet chuckle is full of amusement as he reads the note once more. It was a fair attempt, he’ll say that much, but a poet his Swan certainly is not. He finds the gesture sweet all the same, insides turning stupidly soft and warm at the idea that she’d written something especially for him on a holiday meant for lovers.

(His heart is so full of her, has been from the very start, and he imagines that that won’t be changing anytime soon. Or ever.)

He eases off the bed, flower in hand as he steps out into the hallway and heads for the stairs. Halfway down, the scent of coffee hits him as well as the telltale smells of breakfast in the making, and he realizes what exactly his love has been up to all this time.

Her back is to him when he turns into the kitchen but she is a vision nonetheless. She’s lightly humming a tune to herself while she cooks up some eggs, clad in nothing but his sleep shirt with her hair piled high atop her head. He smiles at the sight of her, gaze lingering on her hips and the enticing sway of them as she dances to a rhythm only she knows. Her legs are bare beneath the hem of his shirt and his fingers itch to trace along the line where cotton meets the silken texture of her skin. He leads with that desire to touch, setting the rose on the table before slipping his arms around her waist.

She hums in greeting, turning her head slightly towards him as he nuzzles his face into her hair and kisses her cheek. “Good morning,” she says.

“Good morning to you,” he replies, lips moving over her jaw all the way to the juncture between her neck and shoulder. He pauses there a moment -- holding her, breathing her in. “Henry?”

“Left early. He’s got a lot of Valentines to deliver.”

“You mean it’s just us? You and me alone in the house? That might be dangerous.”

He can sense her grin without seeing her face. “Are you planning on pillaging and plundering before the 9:00 AM hour?”

“Perhaps,” he muses, allowing his mind to wander into wicked territory for just a moment. “But presently you’ve a much larger problem on your hands, love.”

“Oh?” She leans away so she can get a better look at him. “Why is that?”

He’s never told her, but he likes the way her brows pinch together to make that little furrow between them. His smile is wide as he presses his lips there too.

“Well, it seems I’ve some sort of ‘ _Secret Admirer,_ ’ you see.” He nods his head towards the flower he’d left on the table, waiting until her gaze falls to it before continuing with his thought. “Now seeing as you’re madly in love with me, I’d say it’s only fair that you duel this person for my affections and- _oof!_ ”

He cuts off with a laugh when her elbow makes contact with his side.

“ _Ha-ha_ ,” she says, scrunching her nose at him before rolling her eyes. Their hands brush as he accepts the coffee she passes to him before she turns back to the stove to finish their meal. “You just think you’re so cute.”

“Oh, I know I’m cute. You know it too, that’s why you like me so much.”

She scoops the scrambled eggs onto a plate before turning in his arms and linking her hands behind his back. “I like you for a myriad of reasons, the fact that you’re cute is just a bonus.”

His grin is cheeky over the rim of the mug, drawing another smile from her, and he leans down to brush his mouth gently across hers. “Thank you for my rose and my poem,” he murmurs.

There’s a look that blankets her face, not exactly melancholy, but it’s an expression he’s familiar with. It’s one she only gets when she’s thought back to something in her past and the way he sets the mug down to run his hand soothingly up and down her back is second nature now.

“Swan? What is it, love?” The corners of her mouth tug up into something a little sad and it makes his chest tighten.

“When I was a little girl, at school for Valentine’s Day all the students would decorate these paper bags and give cards and candy to each other. They were all generic, nothing really meaningful, but I got candy out of it so there was that. But when I got a little older, Valentine’s Day stopped being about giving to _everyone_. I went to a school that had this...rose and candy delivery service instead. You could write little notes on the cards if you wanted. They didn’t even have to be romantic, they could have been between friends too.”

She drops her cheek to his shoulder, forehead pressed to his neck, tucking herself in the space beneath his chin. Her story comes freely, as does her vulnerability, and her trust in him is something he will treasure always. There is none of that hesitancy that had been so prominent early on in their courtship and it is yet another reminder of how far they’ve come and how glad he is for it.

“I stopped getting Valentines that year,” she tells him. “And I didn’t really have anybody to send one to either.” She shrugs but he knows the gesture is not as nonchalant as she means for it be. “I guess it’s just nice that that’s not the case anymore.”

He doesn’t sigh the way he wants to, but he closes his eyes and tightens his hold on her, heart aching fiercely for the lost and lonely little girl she once was. He would build her an entire garden of roses if she asked, or acquire books full of blank pages for all the poems she might want to write, or purchase chocolate by the pound. Anything, really, if it meant he could give her more happy moments like these.

“You know, I have to say,” he murmurs. “I’ve never had the pleasure of being someone’s Valentine before.”

She shifts away, tips her head back so she can meet his gaze. “Yeah, well, you never forget your first.”

Her eyes twinkle with mirth when he closes the space between them and kisses her again, harder and with more gusto than the last time. The words are familiar, reminding him of a time not so long ago that they’d climbed an overgrown plant and begun this whole adventure together, and it makes him _ridiculously_ sentimental and happy.

“I love you,” she whispers against his lips, and he will never tire of hearing those words come from her first.

“And I, you, Swan.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Killian.”

He does not reply, instead surprising her by sweeping her up into his arms. He cherishes her laughter, how rings out and fans across his lips, and the easy way her arms wind around his neck. He turns to leave the kitchen, very clearly headed for the stairs, and she must know what his intentions are because one of her brows arch with mock-disapproval.

“ _Seriously?_ We can’t go back to bed, I just got you out of it! And I made breakfast!”

Her protests fall on deaf ears as he marches her straight back upstairs and to their bedroom. He kicks the door closed and drops her unceremoniously on the mattress then proceeds to ensure that she makes good on the last part of her poem -- _come give me a kiss and I’ll give you one too_ \-- and then some.

_Fin_


End file.
